Marry Me, G. Hauser [ereader for textbooks .txt] 📗

was no hesitation for the opening bid though Braxton

thought it was quite high. He did a little runway strut, so he

didn’t just stand there like a dumb schmuck, and made sure he

turned right and left to see the paddles rising up as the number

did.

“…and…two thousand can I see two-five…two-five…we got

twenty-five, can I see three?”

Braxton began to drip from the tension and the hot lights. He

took off his tuxedo jacket and the screams of women nearly

made him deaf. He folded it over his arm and the number

climbed in one hundred increments to four thousand.

Braxton glanced back at Sophia and made a face of surprise

at how high the bidding was going. She began miming for him to

take off his tie. Braxton touched his bowtie in confusion. She

nodded.

He removed his tie and Sophia’s assistant raced out to take

both the jacket and tie from him.

As the bidding continued, Braxton loosened his collar and

again made a walk to the front tables and smiled at the excited,

drunk guests.

“Five! Five! Five…last and final offer? Sold! We got us our

first date with Braxton Todd, sold to number two-oh-two.” The

auctioneer pointed to the bidder.

Braxton tried to see who had paid five grand for him. He

choked. An older man in his sixties with snow white hair was

grinning demonically at him.

“Date number two!” the auctioneer began the next round.

“This time your dining experience for two with this handsome

bachelor will be right here at the Ritz.”

Again the bidding began at a grand.

Immediately it was accepted.

Sophia kept signaling to Braxton to do something. When he

figured it out what she was miming, he went pale. Take off my

shirt? Are you kidding me?

The bidding stalled at twelve-hundred and Braxton heard the

auctioneer trying for another few hundred. Braxton began

unbuttoning his shirt, trying not to scowl, since this was not

about sex, it was about charity. Suddenly this was a strip act.

Instantly the crowd went mad, whooping it up. Braxton took

off his shirt and tossed it behind him.

“There we go, ladies and gents! Have a look at the

merchandise!” The auctioneer laughed and said, “Look at all

those paddles raised! We got, twelve-hundred, thirteen,

fourteen!”

Braxton ran his hand over his chest, and his nipples grew

erect from the nerves and chill. He ran his hand over his hair and

shook out his mane, resolved to just get this fucking charade

done.

“Three thousand, three thousand! Last and final offer! Sold to

bidder twenty-one!”

Braxton again tried to see through the chaos. A handsome

man in his twenties licked his lips at him as if indeed this was a

hookup. Braxton didn’t know what was worse, the old geezer or

the stud who wanted a fuck.

“Last chance to win a date with our handsome PR man, here,

and this time it’s for two at the Café La Boheme. Can we again

start the bidding at a thousand?”

No one opened the bid. Braxton assumed they were bored and

ready to move on to the cruises and artwork. He wasn’t about to

take off his damn pants!

“Five hundred! Start your bids at five hundred.”

A dozen paddles were raised.

Braxton was exhausted but moved closer to the tables, even

walking among the diners as if he were a stripper looking for

people to shove cash in his crotch. He smiled, pretended this

wasn’t utter humiliation and the bidding began to rise.

This time it hit two grand and Braxton was standing right in

front of a young woman, whose eagerness to get her paws on

him was obvious. She appeared to be with her parents, but was

certainly not underage, maybe just young twenties.

“Sold to the young lady, number one-eight-four!”

Braxton caught her clapping happily and looking back at her

father who had obviously been the banker behind her bids.

Braxton waved politely to all the occupants of the banquet

hall and headed out of the room through the same door he had

entered. Sophia was there, clapping her hands in glee. “Ten

thousand dollars, Braxton!” She hugged him and he was so tired

he nearly fell on her.

He was given his shirt and jacket, tie, and a card with the

dates and times of the gift dinners, which all were this coming

week, one right after the other, Monday through Wednesday.

“I’m toast, Sophia. I have to get home.”

She kissed his cheek and said, “Go. I am so happy!”

He tried to smile but the thought of being someone’s blind

date, three of them, was not making him as happy as it made her.

But…he had raised a lot of money for a good cause.

Tugging his jacket on over his unbuttoned shirt, Braxton

made for the lobby to look for Scott and as he did he took his

phone out of his pocket and turned it on. There were a dozen

missed text messages and voicemails. He ignored them and put

the phone to his ear. “Hey, buddy. Time for me to go home.”

“Right outside the door, Braxton.”

He hung up and left the hotel, seeing the stretch limo waiting

and Scott opening the door for him.

Braxton dropped into the back seat and closed his eyes.

“How did you do?” Scott started the car and they began

making their way to Santa Monica.

“Made ten grand.”

“Damn!” Scott laughed.

“Three fuckers bid on me. I’m dreading these dates.”

“Hell, just hang out for the meal and split. That’s all you have

to do.”

“True. But I’m so busy with work, even a couple of hours off

the phone and I get all backed up.” He stared out of the window,

his headache had returned.

“Hire someone.”

“I intend to.”

~

“Oh, my sweetness,” Fabian said as he hugged Naomi. “I had

a wonderful dinner.”

“Anytime. Just call me.”

“I know. Should I walk you to your car?”

“I’m right there.” She pointed.

“Okay. Call me soon.” He waved and walked to where he had

parked, a few blocks away. It was dark and cool out, very

breezy, and many people were still lingering in the area for late

dinners and clubbing. It was after ten and although Fabian had a

great time, he felt slightly empty as he walked alone to his car.

He aimed the key fob at it, and unlocked it, then sat behind the

wheel and started it up.

As he did, he thought about Braxton and wondered just how

much money a person would pay for a chance to sit across a

dinner table and